


Drive More Backroads

by Paganpunk2



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: First Meaningful Conversation, Internal Conflict, M/M, Male Homosexuality, New in Town, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sullivan Has A Crush, hot and bothered, long drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paganpunk2/pseuds/Paganpunk2
Summary: Moving to a new town is never easy, and Kembleford had Sullivan confused enough before Sid popped out of the brush along a backroad and offered to take him home.  Now, stuck in a car with his highly illegal crush, what's an Inspector to do?
Relationships: Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan
Kudos: 24
Collections: More, Slice of Life





	1. I Turned Around...

Sullivan officially hated backroads.

He’d disliked them in London – blind alleys, narrow breezeways, sharp turns – but he hadn’t known how much he could loathe them until he’d come to Gloucestershire. Farm roads, forest roads, old cart trails that were still used enough that the locals called them roads (they were _not,_ he bit back as he struggled to read fine print in the failing afternoon light, they were _not_ roads if they didn’t show up on the bloody map), mostly unpaved, almost never labeled. Sheer navigational hell.

Half of the streets in Kembleford proper didn’t even have signs. He’d been meaning to look that up, in fact, because he was sure it couldn’t be legal. If he ever managed to get back to what passed for civilization around here, checking the exact requirements and ensuring they were met would be the first thing he did.

“Oi. Inspector. D’you want some ‘elp?”

Sullivan jumped several inches into the air. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, but those words had been spoken bare feet away. When he landed, his useless map now crumpled in his hands, he discovered that the man who had addressed him was biting back a laugh. “...Well, go on, Carter,” he snarled, embarrassed. “Let it out.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You _were.”_

“I wanted to, but I wasn’t gonna. You looked miserable enough already ‘thout me taking the Mick out of you.”

Sullivan opened his mouth to retort. Then, realizing something, he paused. “Carter...does that atrocious accent of yours always get worse as night comes along?”

“No. I was cranking it up for you, actually.” He really had been, it seemed, because he was suddenly speaking in his normal manner. “Thought it might help you feel less homesick for a second or two.”

“Oh, yes, I long for the days of not being able to understand a word of what I’m hearing.”

“...Right, so, I didn’t realize you were _that_ hacked off about being lost. I was aiming for an eye roll and a bit of snark, not to have my head bitten off.”

Carter didn’t sound perturbed, though he had every right to be. He might be on Sullivan’s watchlist, and an annoyance besides (though a good-looking one, which was the biggest annoyance of all), but that was no excuse for rudeness. “No,” the Inspector shook his head with a sigh. “Of course you weren’t. I apologize. My comment was out of line. You were only trying to help, albeit in a less than brilliant way.”

“So you _could_ understand me?”

“Obviously. You were still speaking English. Technically.”

“Heh. Good. I was starting to wonder how you’d survived being a copper in London if you already couldn’t understand me. I hadn’t even started rhyming yet.”

“Please refrain from doing so now. I have had ample demonstrations of that particular...cultural outgrowth...before.” Sullivan glanced down at the paper he was still holding and grimaced. It wasn’t a good map, but it was the only one he had. He began to smooth it out. “I assume you know where we are, and how to get back to the village?”

“Sure. Be an awfully funny coincidence if we were both lost and just happened to bump into each other, wouldn’t it?”

“I dislike coincidences.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. Good job I’m not lost, then.”

“Yes.” He held out the rumpled but re-folded map. “That being the case, if you would show me where I need to go...?”

“I would, but I can’t.”

“You just said you weren’t lost!”

“I’m not lost. That’s why I know I can’t show you how to get out of here on that map. On any map, probably, leastwise not ones you can just buy at a garage. I’ll have to take you.”

Sullivan closed his eyes briefly. Having to get directions from Carter was bad enough, but the prospect of being led back to town by him was galling. Still, it was better than spending the night in the car and hoping someone else would find him come morning. “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

“Nah. We’ll be at it all night that way.” Seeing Sullivan’s confusion, he went on. “I’m on foot.”

That explained how he’d been able to sneak up so quietly. Sullivan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just out for a walk. Nice weather for it.” He pointed up and over Sullivan’s shoulder. “See? Evening star’s out already.”

He looked despite himself. He’d only intended a glance, but the spot of brightness that was visible through a gap in the trees held his attention for several seconds. Stars weren’t things that one saw in London. He’d forgotten their ethereal beauty.

“Very nice,” he said brusquely, knowing better than to acknowledge soft feelings in front of someone he would quite likely have to arrest soon. “But it doesn’t help me get home, does it?”

“It could,” Carter argued mildly. “But it doesn’t have to tonight.” He grinned. “‘Cause you’ve got me instead.”

“I might have you in more ways than one if you don’t have a good reason for being ‘out for a walk’ at this time of night, and so far from home.”

“How much of a hurry to give you directions towards the station d’you think I’d be in if I was under arrest? Anyway, I’m not far from home.” This time he pointed towards the trees almost exactly opposite the planet glittering in the sky. “Caravan’s only about a quarter mile that way.”

“...So we’re quite near the village, then.” As mortifying as it was to have gotten turned around so close to Kembleford, at least it wouldn’t take long to get back.

“Well...” Carter retracted his pointing hand and rubbed the back of his head with it. “Yes and no. I mean, the caravan’s just right there, but you can’t exactly drive to it from here. There’s no quick way in a car. You have to go around.”

“Around _what?!”_

“Couple of hills, a decent chunk of forest, and part of Lady F.’s place.”

“That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”

Carter shrugged. “It’s just how the roads run. They’re old. People didn’t used to need to go so many places.”

“And I suppose these ‘roads’ we’ll be taking are all like this one?” They were standing in the middle of a narrow dirt track that looked as if it would turn to mud at the merest suggestion of rain.

“Nah. They get better. You did get yourself lost proper the first time, though. Unless,” a smirk appeared, “you’ve already been lost since you got here?”

“I haven’t,” Sullivan answered stiffly. He chose not to relay that he’d had someone else drive, or at least lead him in another car, each time he’d needed to leave the village up to this point.

“Alright,” Carter allowed easily. “Are we going, then, or...?”

“Yes. We’re going.” Anything to get this over with quickly.

“Ah...Inspector?”

He had just opened the driver’s side door, and was about to get in. “What is it now?”

“You should probably let me drive. It’s a few turns, and I know what they look like in the dark.” He winced as he said it, as if he knew that Sullivan wasn’t going to be pleased.

He was correct about that. “I’m sorry, are you asking me to let you take control of a police vehicle that you’ve been in the back of on more than one occasion? And with me in the passenger seat, at that?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” Not letting known criminals get control of a car you were sitting in was practically the first thing they taught you when you became a policeman, never mind being simple common sense. “Absolutely out of the question.”

“It’s gonna take twice as long if you drive.”

“Why? Were you planning to speed?”

“What? No. I don’t speed. Who wants a chauffeur with a bunch of speeding tickets?”

“Somehow I doubt Lady Felicia would hold it against you.” The level of indulgence the Countess showed her driver was plain to anyone who saw them together for five minutes. Besides, if Sullivan remembered correctly Lady Felicia’s police file consisted almost entirely of traffic violations, and she didn’t strike him as a hypocrite.

“True. But still. I don’t speed.”

“Well, you still aren’t driving. So either get in or move on.”

Carter got in. “Right, so, if you go straight and up around this next curve, there’s an open spot you can turn around in.”

“...Turn around? Why?”

“Road dead-ends not long after that.”

Barely restraining a string of oaths, Sullivan found the open spot and got the car pointed back the way it had come. “...What’s at the end of it?” he asked. Carter clearly knew the lay of the land, and the fact that he’d likely gained much of his knowledge during illegal activities was no reason for the Inspector not to take advantage of it.

“An old stead. Inching? Finching? The name was something like that. It’s been abandoned, I dunno, twenty years? Roof’s starting to fall in a bit now, but kids still come out to it sometimes.”

“What on earth for?”

“For what on earth do you think?” Carter shot an amused glance at him. “Didn’t you ever take a mate or a girl off to a place like that? You know, to explore or...uh... _explore_?”

“No, I most certainly did not.” He’d been too busy with school and team sports for things like that. Besides, his father would have murdered him if he’d been caught getting into such trouble. Plus, while there had been other boys who might have qualified as friends if he’d let them get close enough, he’d known better than to allow such a thing. It would have been too easy for them to discover that he never, ever wanted to take a _girl_ off into some secluded spot for a bit of...exploring.

“Shame, that is. Though on second thought, there probably weren’t too many bombed-out buildings in your part of London. Least not when you’d’ve been looking for make-out hideaways. What?” he asked defensively as Sullivan glared at him. “You’re older than me. Who cares? Point is, there were a few more options around when I was coming up.”

“What makes you think I’m older than you are?” He knew about their eight year age difference because he had access to the station's records, but where the hell had Carter gotten _his_ information?

Carter began to tick things off on his fingers. “Detective Inspector, to start. I’ve never met any of those my age, and I’ve met a lot of policemen.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Then there’s the war,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard Sullivan’s remark. “You’ve made it pretty clear you were in that. So unless you lied about your age to sign up, which I’d wager you didn’t, you’re at least three years older than I am. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten in before it ended.”

“...And?” Sullivan pressed when Carter fell silent.

“And what?”

“And what’s the third thing that leads you to believe that I’m older than you are?”

“Who says there’s a third thing? Those two aren’t enough for you?”

“No one ticks off fingers for only two things. There are always at least three when you do that.”

He looked impressed. “...Alright. You got me there. I’ll keep that in mind. Third thing is...I know when your birthday is. Including the year.”

“You do not.” He’d _better_ not.

Carter named a date then, and Sullivan nearly drove off the ‘road.’ “Where...” he spluttered when they were back in the middle of the dirt path. _“_ How.. _.who...?!”_ Someone must have seen the date on his in-processing forms and passed it along. Unacceptable. When he found out who it was, they were going to get the lecture of their life. If the walls of the station were that information-porous, it was no wonder that Father Brown had no qualms about sticking his nose into police business.

“Take this left coming up.”

“Answer the question!”

“Or what, you won’t take the left?” Once the car had made the turn, Carter continued. “And the answer to your question is...I talk to people. I talk to everybody. And when you talk to people, if you listen, you get to know things. Here, is this road more what you were hoping for?”

This track was at least gravellier than the last one had been. “It will do. Where’s the next turn?” Talking to Carter was certainly helping him know things, but they were all things he didn’t want to know. Maybe it would be better if they focused on the information he actually needed.

“Second left, then a quick right when it forks. Badger.”

“...What?”

“Badger.” He pointed towards a grayish streak that was vanishing into the undergrowth that trailed onto the driving surface. “You see him?”

“I saw...something. Was that a badger?”

“Yeah. There might be another one later. They’re waking up around now, so watch out. You don’t want to hit one.”

“They don’t seem to be very large. Would it damage the car?”

“No, but it would damage the badger. Then we’d have to stop and make sure it was dead.” He made a face. “The littler animals are usually dead as soon as you hit them, but sometimes you have to finish a badger off.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Badgers can be nasty, sure, but that’s not the problem. I just don’t like killing them.”

“I meant stopping the car on the road.”

“You pull off as much as you can, but you can’t just drive on and leave it in misery.”

“You can if you’d be obstructing traffic. In fact, you may be legally obligated to leave it.” Perhaps he’d better check on that, too.

“What, now it’s illegal for me to put a dying animal out of its misery?”

“It’s not as if it’s a pet dog.”

“So you’d stop if you hit a dog, but not if you hit a badger?”

He sounded appalled. For some reason, his tone made Sullivan pause to consider his answer. “...I would always stop for a dog, yes. Dogs are bigger – they can’t be left on the roadway. They’re also property, so the incident should be reported to the police to allow the registered owner to be notified.”

“Some dogs are smaller than a grown badger,” Carter countered. “And good luck with dogs being registered ‘round here. We’ve got enough random mutts and farm hounds to outfit more than one or two polar explorers. Anyway, dog or badger, it’s cruel to leave it if it’s got no chance. You hit it at the speed we’re going, it could take it hours to die. Would you want to be left on the verge, dying, for hours?”

“No, obviously, but if you hit a person you’re meant to stop regardless of whether you’ll be obstructing traffic. And dogs are...well, dogs. And badgers are not.”

“So you only stop for the ones you think are civilized, or at least tame, is that it?”

“That’s not...” Sullivan shook his head, flustered. "We have rather a dearth of badgers in London, Carter. As you may recall.”

“...Yeah,” he permitted, his upset deflating a little. “I guess you probably haven’t thought about it before. But it’s still cruel. Just because it’s wild, that’s no reason to let it suffer.” A beat passed. “...Here’s the Y. Go right.”

“And then?”

“Follow it for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re close to the next turn.”

They had finally reached a paved road. It appeared to have been paved before the war and left to the elements ever since, but at least the surface beneath the tyres felt familiar. This was important, because they were rounding one of the hills that Carter had mentioned. Between the falling dusk, the potholes, and the curves and dips of the road, Sullivan had enough else to concentrate on.

He didn’t know if the other man agreed that he should pay attention to driving or was simply irked over their badger conversation, but there was no more talk forthcoming. Sullivan spared a glance at his passenger’s impassive expression. Damn. He really hadn’t meant to argue with him. Had he? Who knew. Everything was confusing here, from the roads to the people to the practices they clung to. He couldn’t have felt much more out of his element if he’d been assigned to Timbuktu. And that was without taking Carter into account.

Heaving a sigh, Sullivan focused on driving and tried to pretend as if his disorientation didn’t bother him at all.


	2. ...And There Was You

“Sharp right coming up just after that big patch of hazel,” came finally. “You’ll want to crawl into it, it’s more of a hairpin than a normal turn.”

Sullivan had a rough idea of what a hazel tree looked like, and by the time he got to the gap where the next road came in his reduced speed gave him plenty of time to react. The headlamp beams flashed across scarred trunks and broken limbs as he navigated the tight corner. “People go off all the time,” Carter remarked. “Even ones who know better.”

“The other direction must be a problem, as well, I imagine,” Sullivan replied, trying to keep the conversation going. This new road was in much better shape than the one they’d turned off, and it shot straight uphill for some distance. He could picture people coming down too quickly, relaxed, and failing to brake and check for traffic at the junction.

“...Yeah,” Carter nodded. “‘Sfunny, I hardly ever see other cars out here, but someone goes plowing into someone else at that merge at least once a year. Don’t think there’s ever been one of those crashes where everyone lived.”

There was a sad note in his voice, as if he had known one of the corner’s victims. If he talked to everyone as he’d said he did – and from what Sullivan had heard from other sources, he wasn’t exaggerating – he might well have known them all, or at least those who had died since his arrival in the district. “You seem to know a great deal about this area, considering how out of your way it is.”

“I told you before, Inspector. I was out for a walk.”

He hadn’t meant to sound as if he was fishing, but apparently his comment had come off that way. “I’m not questioning you about tonight,” he amended. “I was just making an observation. You’ve only been here a few years, but you have very detailed information about the roads, and the woods, and...just...things. Country things.”

“I like it here,” Carter said simply. “I like the country. There’s a lot to like.” He paused. “You’re having a hard time with it, though.”

He was. He really, really was. “I am _not.”_

“It’s not a crime to have a hard time adjusting to a new place, you know. ‘Specially one as different as here is to London.”

Sullivan didn’t know of anyone else in the village who had made the transition he was struggling so hard with. Just Carter. And Carter had made it so thoroughly that if one had only caught rumor of him and never heard him open his mouth they could well believe that he’d been local from birth. It would be foolish not to see if his experience could ease Sullivan’s own. The Inspector had no intention of staying in Kembleford any longer than necessary, but that didn’t mean he wanted to feel this lost the whole time he was here.

“...Did you?” he broached cautiously, prepared to back out if he sensed a laugh coming. “Have trouble adjusting, I mean?”

“‘Course. It was different for me in some ways – I didn’t come in with a job and a roof like you did – but...I dunno, maybe that made it easier. I had to rely on other people right from the start, and if you want people to help you, give you a day’s work, maybe let you sleep in a barn or a spare bed on a rainy night, you have to find common ground. You have to figure out their ways, and reflect those ways enough to put people at ease.

“The Father says people are the same everywhere, in the things that count. He’s probably right about that. I mean, he’s right about most everything else. But people’s ways can be different, and you don’t get much different ways than London and Kembleford. You go around here acting like you think you’re still in the city, or that everyone ought to act more city-like...well, you’re not gonna make many friends. At least not right away.”

“...Ah.” It occurred to Sullivan that he had seen the reverse happen with officers who started out in their local constabulary and managed to move up the ranks to a post in London. Very few of them ever really seemed to feel comfortable in the city, and most only spent as long there as they had to in order to secure a promotion back out in the country somewhere. The ones who adjusted the most successfully were those who put down roots, who found a friend amongst the born Londoners, who fell in love with a city girl, who raised their children somewhere along the Underground's lines.

Sullivan didn’t foresee the country versions of those things coming into his life. Two of them were ruled out by his nature. As for making a friend, the only people he’d had anything like a meaningful conversation with during the month since his arrival were Sergeant Goodfellow and the man currently sitting in his passenger seat. One was his subordinate and the other was a convicted burglar. Poor candidates, to say the least.

Besides, it was just as dangerous for him to make friends now as it had been when he was a boy. He had already seen the village grapevine in action, so he knew that any whiff of scandal or indiscretion on his part would be fodder for dinner table discussions throughout his jurisdiction before a full day had passed. When he found himself craving physical release, it would be too risky to search for a partner anywhere nearby.

In London there were places he could go when his body demanded the touch of another man. It wasn’t strictly safe, but it was anonymous. Nothing was anonymous here. Everyone knew everyone, and while secrets could be kept successfully for long periods, people seemed surprised when they were. It was no secret, for instance, that Carter was a ladies’ man. That was a shame, really, because if there was anyone in Kembleford that Sullivan would have liked there to be a chance with...

No. He couldn’t think that way. As much as he was secretly enjoying this ride of theirs – and he was enjoying it, he realized, though he wasn’t certain whether that was of his own volition or the result of Carter’s legendary charm – there could be nothing more. That was all there was to it.

“Hey.”

Sullivan glanced over. They were nearing the top of the long hill now, rising out of the dusk and into the receding sunset. Carter was all highlights and shadows as he watched Sullivan take him in. “...What?”

“What I said before...no one expects you to do it all at once. Taking up their ways, or at least respecting them. It’s not that you can’t _ever_ give someone a lecture for stopping to check on a badger; just maybe don’t lecture the ones who are only trying to do their best with the situation they’re in.”

“The law is the law, Carter.”

He sighed. “Yeah. The law is the law. But d’you know what happens when something’s too rigid and unbending? It breaks.” He pointed out the windscreen towards the crest of the hill, where the snapped-off trunk of a massive tree stood sentinel beside the road. “That’s not a way, Inspector. It’s just a fact. And it’s as true in London as it is here.”

Sullivan made no reply to that. Rigidity was one of the very few things that he had ever been faulted for in his career. “You know the difference between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law,” his first supervisor had said once. “You know it too well, in fact, because you’ve chosen sides. You can’t do that; you have to walk the line between them and feel out when each approach is the best one to take. Always applying the letter of the law will get you promoted, at least to a certain point, but it won’t win you any friends along the way.”

Well, he didn’t need any of those, anyway. Although it would be nice to know what it felt like to have one, if only for a little while...

His foot lifted off the gas as they passed the hill’s apex. It moved over to the brake and applied pressure there, instead, as his hand shifted down through gears automatically. The car stopped, and Sullivan stared out over the scene below. “...That’s beautiful,” he breathed, unable to hold the thought in.

Land that felt flat when one was standing on it was revealed as a series of low, undulating rises from this height. Fields and pastures, shaded differently depending on what was being grown, broke the earth into an antique patchwork. Here and there among them were flashes of metal where someone had, in a good year, replaced a traditional roof with a tin one. Modernity was creeping in elsewhere, too; the bulk of the fertilizer processing plant was visible in the distance, balanced by the silos of Greer’s mill along the river’s edge. But Kembleford, still mostly stone and garden and wood, anchored the valley’s pastoral atmosphere. And all of this was suffused with the same bronzed glow that had profiled Carter only minutes earlier, making it feel fleeting and eternal at the same time.

“It’s like walking into a painting, innit?” Carter’s voice was soft. “I came into town the first time on this road. Hitched a ride with Roddie Seawell. It was about this time of day. Just as gorgeous.”

“Is this what made you decide to stay?”

“Not just this, but...it didn’t hurt.” A beat passed. “Only one problem with it.”

“What’s that?” The view changed with every second as the light drained out of the world. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Tends to make drivers obstruct the roadway.”

It took him a moment. “Oh! Oh...” Blushing, he put the car back into motion. “Yes, all right, Carter. I see your point.”

“I wasn’t trying to make a point. I just didn’t figure you wanted to get slammed into from behind without warning.”

No, not without warning. Terrifyingly, those words nearly came out of his mouth. “There ought to be a pull-out there,” he said instead. “It’s dangerous as it is.”

“Yeah. It is. But if you’re gonna die in a wreck, I can’t think of a much nicer last thing to see than that. Can you?”

Sullivan stole another look at his passenger. Carter was all shadow now, but he remembered how the sunlight had kissed his cheekbone and traced the curve of his throat. “...No.” London had many advantages over Kembleford, but the views certainly weren’t one of them. “I don’t think I can.”

* * *

“You can just drop me at the presbytery,” Carter said as they rolled into the village.

“...You don’t want a ride home?” They hadn’t said much during what remained of the drive after that last big hill, but what words had been spoken were pleasant, relaxed. Sullivan wouldn’t have been sorry to extend the experience.

“Same thing, here or there. I was thinking about walking down for dinner, anyway. And,” he chuckled, “we can’t have you getting lost on backroads twice in one day.”

“I know how to get back and forth from your caravan, thank you.” Maybe. He’d at least been up there before. “I’m not completely hopeless.”

“Nah. You’ll do alright.”

Kembleford being the size it was, they were already within sight of St. Mary’s. “...Could come in and eat, if you wanted,” Carter suggested.

Sullivan frowned at that. “You may invite yourself over places, Carter, but I generally wait for the actual host to ask me in.”

“Eh, mine’s a standing invitation. And you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve shown up with unannounced.”

“Nevertheless.”

“There’s always plenty. It’s not like you’d be taking food off of someone else’s plate.” A beat passed. “...Alright. Be stiff about it if you want.”

“It’s not being stiff. It’s called manners.”

“So you’d come if the Father asked you to?”

“I didn’t say that.” The priest had a reputation for being able to see right through people. Sullivan was confident that his defenses would prevent too much being detected by even the most inquisitive casual acquaintance who was met only in the street, but he wasn’t sure how well they’d hold up over the course of meal in that acquaintance’s home. Especially since Carter would be there, too, and likely right across the table from him.

Carter sighed. “Have it your way. But you’re missing out.” He opened his door and made to step out of the car. “Oh, and just so you know...if you get lost again, anyone’ll help you. It’s pretty much all good people around. Even most of the crooks are alright, once you get to know them.”

“‘Them?’” inquired Sullivan archly.

“Aw...” He mock-pouted, and suddenly the blow job that Sullivan had risked getting the night before he left London felt as if it had happened a hundred years ago. “You’re welcome, anyway. For the directions.”

Oh, hell, he had never actually thanked him, had he? “I...ah...”

Carter had gotten out, and was now leaning down to peek back inside. A cheeky grin had appeared in place of his pout, but somehow it didn’t help Sullivan’s predicament any. “It’s called manners,” he chided jokingly. “...See you around, Inspector.” Then he shut the door and loped towards the presbytery, where a figure that could only have been Father Brown seemed to be lingering at the window.

Back roads, Sullivan thought wearily as he pulled away, really were terrible things. The car was probably covered in dust, and would have to be washed if it was. He was tired from being lost, and he hadn’t retained more than half of the directions Carter had given him, so he would probably be lost again very soon. There had been a couple of nice views along the way – _very_ nice views – but they’d left him feeling conflicted rather than inspired. So conflicted, he grimaced as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, that he might have to masturbate before he could even start to think about food.

His gaze rose to the rearview mirror. The presbytery door made a bold rectangle of light around Carter’s silhouette for a moment before it closed. Sullivan gulped.

Yes, back roads were terrible things. Still, he thought he’d take them more often, and one in particular, if he could find it again. As today had demonstrated, there was no predicting what might happen out on a dirt track like the one to the...Inching? Finching?... stead. It, and everything within roughly a quarter-mile radius, was worth keeping an eye on.


End file.
